otional crisis to inspire such another speech as she made
to them seventeen years ago. Charlie still snored beside her, as he had
snored in sequel to seven or eight thousand nightly undressings. She
still saw to the washing, added up the accounts, bought a new dress in
the spring and a new bonnet in the autumn. She still meant to read the
paper this week, but never had time, and every night she hoped that all
would go smooth. This habit of hope was to her what the candle-lit
chapter of a Bible with flower-stained pages or counterpane prayers or
dreams of greatness are to minds differently constituted. Her life was
by no means drab, for she went often to the theater, and occasionally to
the saloon bar of a discreet public-house, where, in an atmosphere of
whisky and Morocco leather, she would sometimes listen to Mrs. Purkiss's
doubts of Jenny's behavior, but more often tell diverting tales of
Charlie.

Such was Hagworth Street, when, on a cold Sunday in the front of May,
Edie came over from Brixton. She looked pale and anxious as she sat for
a while in the kitchen twisting black kid gloves round her fingers.

"How's Brixton, Edie?" asked her mother.

"Grand."

"You've not been up to see us for a long time."

"No-o-o," agreed the eldest daughter.

"Busy?"

"Not so very. Only you never know when you will be. I'll go upstairs and
take my things off. Come with us Jenny," she said, turning to her
sister.

"There's a cheek. Whatever next?"

"Oh, you are hateful! Come on up."

Jenny, with every appearance of unwillingness, followed Edie upstairs,
and flung herself down on the bed they had once shared.

"Don't be all night," she protested, as she watched Edie staring
aimlessly at herself in the glass.

"Jenny," said the latter suddenly, "I done it."

"Done what?"

"Myself, I suppose."

"What d'ye mean?"

"You know," said Edie.

"Oh, yes, I know, that's why I'm asking."

"You remember that fellow I was going about with?"

"Bert Harding?"

"Yes, Bert."

"You're never going to marry him, Edie?"

"I got to--if I can."

Jenny sat up on the bed.

"You don't mean----"

"That's right," said Edie.

"Whatever made you?"

"I am a fool," said Edie helplessly.

"Whatever will Alfie say?" Jenny wondered.

"What's it got to do with Alfie?"

"I don't know, only he's very particular. But this Bert of yours, I
suppose he will marry you?"

"He says so. He says nothing wouldn't stop him."

"Are you mad